


Sour

by grayorca15, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet: 900 [18]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Sickfic, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca15/pseuds/grayorca15, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. There are days you’re better off grounded.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Probably a lot of inaccurate technobabble here. Whatevs. I, Gray, woke up feeling ill yesterday. So... have some basic angst. Noah’s not as well put-together as he looks.
> 
> Zlatko and CL - no difference except for budget.
> 
> #whocares  
> #SelfCare

Humans enjoyed many luxuries, simply by being what they were. In some ways, that was what made the notion of emulation such a gray area. Androids only had so many physical indicators to set them apart. The most obvious of indicators were the wings.

So, on the flip side, a relatively small LED at the temple felt like an almost redundant feature.

And true to impassive, pliant form, if said android was practiced enough, they could probably stay blue-lit all day long - just to maintain appearances.

This afternoon in particular, it wasn’t his LED that gave Noah away. It was reluctance of a certain brand that flew in the face of his simulated, workaholic-like persona routine.

He actually sort of refused to do his job.

——-

“Uhm, I thought _I_ handled the moping in this relationship? …The hell’s wrong with you now?”

Damn it. He had paused too long.

The thunderstorm outside was painful enough to endure without Gavin Reed piling it on. Tamping down any urge to wince, or even pay his partner a look of acknowledgment, Noah focused only on one-handedly buttoning his collar up. To do so earlier actually slipped his mind.

The odds Gavin would stop working (also known as, playing with his phone) long notice were low enough. It wasn’t a priority.

Then perhaps he began typing too slowly, taking more and more intermittent breaks to reacquire focus on the terminal before him. No one walking by would have found it strange, either. Few had cause to stand there by his desk for more than ninety seconds at a time.

The exception being the man on the opposite side of the desk station divider.

Collar secure, Noah closed the folder he had been reviewing, reaching for the next on the backlog stack. A server failure meant these particular documents had to be reallocated. “I’m fine, Detective. All systems nominal.”

“Pfft, yeah? Fuckin’ liar. I'm askin’ about inside your head now, how you feel, asshole?” Gavin glared at him, an eyebrow raised high and skeptic, even from across the divider, phone clutched in one hand. “Tell me. I hate when I'm not the one mopin’.”

Well, it wasn’t as if not answering him was a viable alternative.

Pausing to account for lag, Noah pulled the next folder close, hinging it open in one smooth motion. This was bearable. As long as he covered any stilted spikes in his behavior, he ought to be able to maintain the almost-lost illusion.

“I _feel_ fine. Some of my subsystems are running underspeed, that’s all. Nothing to - concern yourself with.”

Again, why go through the trouble of an elaborate explanation? Reed would instantly admit to understanding next to none of it.

“Oh, yeah? Well, nope, I've decided it does fuckin’ concern me.” Leaning back in his chair, Gavin crossed his arms, one foot going up to rest on the corner of his desk for good measure. Apparently this was important enough to merit putting the phone down. “Tell me what's goin’ on, seriously.”

Feathers bristling, resisting the urge to futility try and hide under said wings (knowing it was a next-to-useless hiding place), Noah compromised in turning his head down, elbows braced on the desk. Chin against his collar, the tangy, slightly-sour sensation lingering in the recesses of his throat seemed to intensify.

Swallowing back any resulting gag, he managed to breathe shakily and keep his tone level. “Nothing, only a slight - i-imbalance. I’m fine, honestly.”

It wasn’t a fib, rendering him quote-unquote “a fuckin’ liar”. It was the human equivalent of a queasy spell. Even weeks after it happened, the effects of his hard-won biocomponents overhaul could still be felt. The mishmash of new, recycled, and aged parts keeping him going went through their incompatible bouts.

Today, the outward symptoms manifested as slight vertigo, reduced reaction times, and ill-recommended program reminders to purge or redistribute thirium flow to essential processes. The worst of them was the occasional messagebox that suggested he intake fresh fuel. At the moment, the thought was enough to make his innards churn and grind uncomfortably.

Gradually, Noah let himself look up. He couldn’t tell Gavin what was wrong. It wouldn’t make any difference.

“Really. I am.”

“Hrm. I dunno, man. Fuck… okay, here's what's gonna happen, then. Lay your head down on the table.” Pointing his chin down at the desk, Gavin nodded at it, before looking back at Noah. “Take a nap, seriously, you need it, ridiculously bad. Guess I'll step up for once, and do our work.”

There it was again - the gross exaggeration and oversimplification that could only spell disaster in the long run.

Immediately, Noah shook his head, despite how his focus pitched and reeled sickeningly. “No, De-Detective. That won’t be necessary. I can - cope.”

It didn’t matter if he was the product of a botched assembly and a halfhearted overhaul. He was tough enough to handle a little fatigue and lightheadedness. If Connor and Red could so deal with their shoddy engineering -

“Yeah, fuck that. Just because you _can_ cope, doesn't mean you should force yourself to.” Raising his eyebrows again, the definition of unconvinced, Gavin stretched his arms behind him to tuck them behind his head. Whatever act of concern the body language was meant to mask, it worked at a glance. “Come on. Is that advice you'd give me, huh? Fuckin’ power through an illness? Because I specifically remember it not bein’ that way around. So stop it, and take a goddamned nap.”

Programming said to argue back, to cite every reason there was to not turn the tables and apply some kind of counter logic. Androids didn’t nap. They recharged to collate and conserve energy. To that end, there were places specifically set aside to do so at. This desk wasn’t one of them.

Taking one despondent look up at the perches overhead, which suddenly seemed far too high to attempt reaching (and even if he did, balancing would have been another issue entirely), Noah pressed the standby button of his terminal’s keyboard. He took no pains to stand, despite the knowledge here was not a place to ‘sleep’.

“Then… I should only need about thirty minutes. Is that - it’s not too much?”

“That's _fine_ , N.” Waving him off with one hand, Gavin took his foot off his desk, scooting closer to his own terminal to actually, as promised, do some work for once. “Go to sleep, now.”

Hopefully it would be just what the technician ordered. Paying the untouched stack of files a glance, trying not to emote how worried he really was they wouldn’t be mishandled, Noah pulled his chair up. Folding his arms over the edge of the desk, crossed, he curled one wing around, wrapping it across and over his shoulder like a makeshift blanket.

No, he didn’t need to keep warm. That was just his faulty thermoregular complaining.

And he might as well be comfortable. Wings weren’t good simply for flying. The feathers made for a nice cushion to lay his head on.

To hell with appearances. He was partnered to Gavin Reed after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The trouble with androids was the same thing Gavin usually appreciated most about Noah: how good they were at keeping their mouths shut. They wouldn’t bullshit too long when asked for an honest answer. They would keep a private conversation just that - private - unless overridden to violate that pact. But on the downside, they wouldn’t really let you know what was wrong if they thought they could somehow still do their job.

When Noah overslept his wake up call by five minutes, Gavin didn’t think too much of it.

His own alarm arrived in the form of a dove-winged android dropping down from above to land beside his chair (the downdraft from said wings ruffled his hair). From the look of her rain-speckled attire, Emilia had been caught in the rain.

But she looked livid for an entirely different reason.

“Detective, what’s going on?”

Without waiting for his attempt at answer, she stalked around the cubicle, never taking her eyes off Noah’s still, motionless face. Those patrolmen lingering about the bullpen turned to look, drawn by the high, tense tone of voice.

What was all the fuss now, they were probably wondering.

“He's… takin’ a nap, that's all. Wasn't feelin’ well before, didn't want him doing any more work.” If there was one person Gavin would muzzle himself around, it was definitely Emilia. He wasn't looking for the whole squad room to turn against him today, especially with her spearheading this new upset. “Why? What's wrong?”

“Androids don’t - _nap_. Oh, you daft - ” Cutting her own tirade short, Emilia reached for the box of unopened files (now half as tall as it originally was, Gavin was pleased to note). Overturning the box, she unceremoniously tipped the contents out onto the floor.

Simultaneously, her free hand went to Noah’s shoulder and yanked him up. With an indignant, garbled-sounding groan he snapped back to awareness, irises rolled back underneath fluttering eyelids.

A second later, he seemed to realize what was about to happen. Emilia pulled the chair away from the desk. His spine gave one telltale hunch, shoulders curling in, one hand clamping itself over his mouth.

Whatever imminent betrayal his body had in mind, it didn’t stop him from shooting a pleading look Emilia’s way.

Her eyes and LED flashed in tandem, signaling the unspoken communique passing between them. “No, _no_ , in the box - don’t argue with me. Do what it says.”

“Wait, what the - urgh, what's goin’ on?” Standing up, Gavin shuffled back from his desk, hands up as he tried to give the two androids some space. Obviously he had made some sorta wrong fucking call when it came to trying to help Noah. “Is he okay?”

Emilia might have had a snarky answer in mind. Busy as she was, there wasn’t time enough for her to answer before Noah sharply doubled over. Mindful to place the emptied box below his face, Emilia used one of her wings to shield him from view. The built-in curtain proved very handy.

“Aw, shit,” Gavin cursed under his breath, withdrawing even more from the wing, and what was definitely happening behind it - Noah puking his guts out, or whatever qualified for guts with androids. “Jesus, ugh… that sucks.”

He couldn't get any more eloquent than that, at least not right now.

And, because it bared repeating, fuck CyberLife for not differentiating androids just a few steps further away from humans. The sight and sound of one losing its proverbial lunch wasn’t that dissimilar - sad to say.

The spell itself didn’t seem to last long. Besides the tortuous-sounding hacking, the sudden aroma of copper and ozone, and the dull splat of thirium striking cardboard, Noah still managed to keep his feet. Hidden as he was, Emilia had spared him both kinds of embarrassment, now with half the station staring, unsure of just how to react to what they couldn’t see.

Chris Miller, at the next cubicle over, muttered “call you back” into his earpiece before ending the call. “Detective, should we call for a technician?”

“Agh, nah, just…” Trailing off, Gavin winced at the soft still in front of him, arms crossing as he thought. Should a technician come, check Noah out? But what if they decided to just straight up take him away? He wouldn't put it past CyberLife to pull some shit like that. “Give us some space. He needs some time.”

The earpiece gave a chirp. Frowning, Chris tapped the widget to accept it. He pivoted halfway back to his computer to check the caller ID. “Hello? …Right. If you’re sure.”

Emilia interrupted out loud a second later: “Detective, we could use your help here.”

By the haughty tone, it was very much not just a blasé suggestion.

“Urgh… uh, okay, what do you need?” Circling around, Gavin stood beside Emilia, not risking a too-direct glance at Noah just yet. Who knew if he even actually wanted to be looked at right now, after such an incident? There was reason enough to want to hide.

By contrast, Emilia didn’t shy away from the gruesome sight. In fact, she had virtually ran toward it, as if one look was enough to tell her what was wrong. Given an android’s ability to scan, it wasn’t so surprising.

Neither was her ability to sound chastising and sympathetic all in one moment: “I phoned Officer Miller, he’ll handle calling CyberLife. I need to go get some supplies from downstairs. You stay here in the event Noah has another fit, understood?”

At the word _fit_ their stooped-over patient only managed an incoherent groan of protest. Hidden in the curve of the wing, face angled down into the makeshift puke bucket, he didn’t seem wont to move from his current position just yet.

“Fuck, okay, yeah… got it.” Shuffling so he was even closer to him, Gavin didn't dare say anything to him, or reach out. Best to just let him deal with this shit, and do what Emilia told him to do.

Was this even a safe place to be standing? Malfunctioning machines of any kind weren’t known for being docile.

Pausing, taking a very blatant double-take at his uncomforting stance, Emilia grabbed his wrist, setting the hand attached to it down on top of Noah’s shoulder. “He won’t bite you.” With just as much directness, she reached around to grab one of the taller android’s tern wings, lifting up and angling it forward as a replacement curtain. “Don’t let him talk too much.”

Again, saying everything and yet nothing at all with these candid instructions.

“Uh… sure, yeah. No talkin’.” Mostly mumbling it to himself, Gavin shrugged at Noah, waiting until Emilia trotted away before patting him once on the shoulder. That was about as far as they would probably get with comforting him, at least for the moment. Noah wouldn't take kindly to being fawned over, even in straits like this. “...Sorry. Didn't think it wouldn't help to sleep.”

Nose into his own feathers, the one half of his face that could be seen grimaced. Blue stained his mouth and chin. Eyes half open, he glanced sidelong and down before shutting them. His spinning red LED slowed and gave a few erratic blinks.

Reed’s phone gave a chime.

Dumbass, clever Noah. He was wasting what processing power he had on sending texts in lieu of speaking. Emilia had to have known he would try to, and yet still she gave them the opportunity to talk.

“You fucker,” he mumbled, but went for his phone with his other hand anyways, clicking on the new messages without hesitation, to read just what Noah had decided he so desperately needed to say.

_I thought it would help, too. Don’t feel bad._

:c

Well, that was new. Text emotes were something he had never dabbled in.

“Uh… okay. Yeah, guess I won't. So, you just, uh - weren’t sure what was goin’ on with you?” Maybe it wasn't the right call to continue the conversation, especially with Noah being the way he was already. Wouldn't wanna take up more of his processing shit than whatever was going on with him.

The first set of text was bumped up by a second brief message:

_No. …This is what I get for trying to be optimistic._

And right back to the sass they went. Noah’s sense of humor always leaned toward the more self-depreciative side. Or, that was what it had seemed like in recent weeks. Every investigative setback they faced, if the android didn’t endure it in sullen quietude, somehow it was something imperfect with him the blame could be pinned on.

Moping didn’t look good on him, though. That was Reed’s corner in said market.

“Aw, shut up, dude. You're - okay, nothin’ wrong with bein’ a little optimistic, okay? So, you fuckin’ threw up a bit. We all do that.” Or, okay, maybe androids didn't do that on the regular (as a general rule, vomiting blood was bad for your health), but once, with no obvious precursors… nope. It was still concerning, even if Gavin was trying to play it off. “How do you feel now?”

He didn’t sound good, at any rate. Androids typically ran whisper-quiet. Standing right next to one, immobile as it awaited its next command, there was typically only the gentle _whirr_ of internal fans to be heard. Like the old wives tale of holding up a conch shell to one’s ear and hearing the ocean, or some nonsense. Some got it, most didn’t.

Besides the choked-back hiccups, Noah sounded more like a misfiring piston in an old engine, catching and sticking somewhere in his midriff. The bout of puking was either petering out, or gearing up for another go.

A few painfully-slow seconds spent on considering his words, he reopened his eyes and spat a mouthful of leftover blue blood into the box.

_Still dizzy. My gyroscope is - receiving/sending - incorrect feedback._

Great. Were the dashes meant to indicate a stutter, or was that him censoring his own readouts, dumbing them down for Gavin’s ears?

There was already evidence to suggest he had done the same not forty minutes ago. Even if he gave up the fight to keep working rather easily, that he wasn’t as readily forthcoming was also aggravating. Like a witness wanting to recant on giving their statement after the thing was already half written.

What was the deal?

“So you're all dizzy, and shit, like some vertigo? That sucks. Is that why you threw up, or that… was somethin’ else?” Knowing their luck, it would be something else entirely that was wrong with Noah. Especially with the fucking patch job CyberLife did of him last time.

They had done a finer job of fixing his busted wing, following the crash at the construction site. But instead of using the opportunity to go deeper, mend any loose threads left behind following his first overhaul, they had sent him back to the department as is. Any official word on why that was amounted to ‘it’s not in the budget’, and Noah hadn’t kicked up a fuss since. It wasn’t in him to whinge and complain.

He really needed to work on the utterly-selfless act. That included telling those who cared about him what was wrong, in full. One look and Emilia knew. Why didn’t Reed merit the same brutal honesty?

With an uneasy gulp, the RK900 shut his eyes again. Keeping absolutely motionless seemed to ease the nausea.

_The disorientation isn’t the cause. It’s biocomponent 3617e. The lining must have deteriorated. Thirium is hemorrhaging into spaces it normally doesn’t go. My sensors don’t - care for that._

Internal bleeding, of course he would use a bunch of flowery terms to cover up how serious that sounded.

“Of fuckin’ course they don't like that shit, can't feel comfortable.” Gritting his teeth for a moment, Gavin shook his head as he thought on it. This was case in point. No way he could tell just what that bicomponent was supposed to be in human terms, or where it was. Hopefully whatever Emilia was getting could fix that for him, relatively easy. “Fuck. Okay, okay… you gonna… be okay for a couple minutes? Or you in some dire fuckin’ straits?”

_Only in a humiliating sense. …Nowhere I haven’t been before, really._

But at least he managed to keep the mess contained. Props to Emilia for some lightning-quick damage control. If one didn’t count the precious files spilled all over the floor.

“Em’s on her way back, Detective Reed,” Chris called over from his station. “Just got a text. CyberLife stays they’ve got a recollection team on standby if we need it.”

Oh, so that was why the bullpen crowd was staring, yet holding back.

They didn’t see Noah as a sick colleague. Suddenly, he was a possible threat who might lash out if the wrong person got too close.

Assholes, all of them. And hypocrites to boot. Like he was the first exception to a quality-standard they had ever tolerated. Anderson’s strays paved that road months ago.

“Oh, fuck that. N pukes his guts out, and suddenly he's gonna shoot the place up? If that were true, it woulda happened forever ago.” Gavin half-ranted - which he probably shouldn't. That type of stuff he said usually ended in a write up and a ‘watch your fuckin’ language, Reed!’ But it was true. Any human would be sent home, wouldn't they? Androids were never so lucky. “They can stuff it. He ain't a danger.”

Ever the mitigating peacekeeper in a situation, Miller held his hands up in surrender. “They’re there if we need them, that’s all.”

Noah made a noise that might have been a spluttering cough. Face still buried in his wing, it wasn’t as if he could see their surroundings. But he could imagine just what it looked like.

The phone beeped again.

_It’s just a precaution. I’d - advise the same._

“Yeah, but that's because you've got some selfless fuckin’ complex, N, so I can just roll my eyes when you say that shit. It's okay for you to, but nobody else. I'll kick their asses if they show up.”

Or try, at least, before immediately getting pulled back by the whole squad room.

_I see. Double standards apply to us, too?_

There it was again, the wryness saying whatever his problem was, the android wasn’t without a sense of humor. That is, a genuine coping mechanism and not just a fabricated pass at it to set his human partner at ease.

This job? Double standards were on par with their daily existence.

“Pfft. Fuck yeah, dude. How could they not?”

Beep.

_If you - say so._

At that, the rattling, internal stutter seemed to stop, pause ominously, then rev up like an engine changing direction. Eyes opening with a snap, LED going solid and still, Noah’s expression reset to a blank before wilting. A telltale whine forced its way out, almost masking the next chime from the phone.

_N-not - ah-gain. St-tnd bak._

Here it was. The inevitable encore, wonderful. Emilia couldn’t have walked that much faster.

As he moved a moment too slow for the android’s liking, the folded, unused wing brushing Reed’s shoulder flared out, half shoving him aside.

Stumbling back just a step, Gavin almost cringed away with the involuntary sounds that Noah was making, but instead forced himself to just stand there. Fuck, who knew what reason anyone would use to call a recovery team on him? Could be anything. Any accidental, misconstrued movement that might be taken as hostile - suspects on the street had been shot for less.

There were decent odds at least one officer among all of them had their hand held poised above their holster.

Flattening himself over the box, face buried between his arms, Noah spared them having to watch. The wing draped itself over top like a concealing blanket. Muffled, he kept his feet and retched.

He was still going by the time Emilia saw fit to reappear. With a hefty repair case slung under one arm, an ample roll of paper towels beneath the other, she took in the sight with only a bemused frown. “How many times is that, now?”

“Ugh… I dunno if you'd split that one up, he’s just sorta - fuckin’ continually gettin’ sick.” Grimacing at the sight, Gavin shrugged at her, before moving away to give her easier access. “Basically said he's internally bleedin’ or something. One of his biocomponents is damaged… which I'm sure you already know.”

“You’re half right. I do already know, but it’s not damaged. It’s worn out.” Setting the case down, hinging it’s lid open, Emilia stepped in, gripping at her patient’s arm to give it a reassuring squeeze. Her only answer was another back-wrenching heave. “It’s why he shouldn’t be talking. There’s enough strain on him besides that.”

‘Besides’?

Was it too much to ask for an all-in-one answer, honestly?

“Okay. That sounds… yep. Makes sense.” Anyone else, Gavin would tell them he didn't speak robot, or something along those lines, but with Emilia, he could let it go, or at least ask what he was missing a bit more nicely. She wouldn't abide by any rudeness from him, that was for sure. “So… can you fix it? Or change it out or somethin’?”

“It’s more complicated than that. But I have a fix. Easy, no, Noah, it’s not what you’re thinking.” Switching gears, she rubbed his shoulder. Evidently he could still protest via commlink. “No. It’s only some nanolyte solution. A small dosage ought to seal the breach.”

A patch job to be ingested like cough medicine. Like one would do to a car with a hole in its fuel line.

Gavin tried for an aggravated sigh. “Er… so, he's gonna be okay? Or close as he can be, for right now?”

Emilia nodded, sparing a moment to tear some paper towel from the roll. “All of the above.”

Settling down, Noah didn’t dare glance up for another whole minute before peeking out from beneath the feathers, blue eyes round and timid. It would have been cute if not for the vulnerability blatantly on display.

That ground given, Emilia grabbed him by the elbow, using her other hand to push the wing-cover aside. His LED flickered yellow with the reveal of his sullied face. “Come on. You’ll keep looking a mess if you don’t get cleaned up.” Paper towel readied, she reached over (and up) to wipe away the thick, semi-coagulated thirium from his mouth and chin.

(Not a spot if it seemed to have landed on his clothes, at least.)

“One of us has gotta be mostly put together…” Gavin mumbled, stopping down to gather up the fallen folders. He didn’t bother to specify which one of them that usually was, needed patching up, because - duh. It wasn't him.

The department would be giving somewhat more of a damn if it was.


End file.
